


Leg Day

by noodlesnake



Series: Fix Me [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ardyn Being Ardyn, Loss of Limbs, Poor Prompto Argentum, RIP talcott's truck, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Ten year gap, What Have I Done, aranea is a mom, biggs and wedge fight like a married couple, cindy too, gladio is a dick, ignis is a mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlesnake/pseuds/noodlesnake
Summary: Prompto tries to steady his breathing. He can’t move a whole lot without any sort of pain, but if he stays, more daemons will show up for an easy meal.





	1. Loss of Hope in Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be a ficlet. Oops.  
> Warnings in this chapter for:  
> self-harm  
> alcoholism  
> violence  
> reference to past torture

Prompto watched his best friend get sucked into a magic glowing crystal. It was definitely the strangest thing he could say happened to him at the time. Aside from just being rescued by a psychopath, like, three hours ago that spent nine days torturing him in every way imaginable.

  
“We need to go,” Gladio said, looking at the ceiling.

  
“Why? What is it?” Ignis asked in return, still confused-looking at the events that just occurred. Prompto tried imagining what Ignis heard; Ardyn's voice next to him, movement and gunshots. A body falling to the floor, a body getting up. Walking out. No wonder he was confused.

  
“Place is gonna crash,” Gladio pointed at cracks forming along the crystal’s chamber, more for his own benefit than Ignis’.

  
“But Noct…” Prompto murmured, barely audible, feeling woozy, “he’s in the crystal, we can’t just-”

  
“We have to,” Gladio grabbed Ignis’ arm, dragging him along without looking to see if his other companion would follow.

  
“Dammit,” Prompto glanced back once more at the crystal, before a low shake made dust fall from above. He quickly hobbled to follow Gladio, far ahead now.

  
“Where are we going?” Ignis snapped after stumbling for the fifth time.

  
“Out.” Gladio snapped back. He glanced back at Prompto, who was falling behind, “hurry up!”

  
Prompto flinched at the tone, but if Gladio saw, he made no mention, “sorry,” he mumbled, trying to go a little faster. A few minutes into this pace and he tripped and fell, catching himself with his hands.

  
Gladio, only slowing a fraction and not turning around growled, “get up. You can rest later.”

  
Prompto nodded, breathing heavily. ‘Rest later’, what Gladio had told him when they left to find the crystal. Less than an hour was all he got. It wasn’t enough. Gods, what the hell is wrong with him? Ardyn hadn’t even had him for two weeks, and he was a mess. Sure, he was dehydrated, starved and abused physically and mentally, but shouldn’t he be stronger? The retainer of the prince, and what a disappointment. He pushes himself up, and a wave of dizziness hits him.

  
“Is Prompto alright?” Ignis asked in a tone that told him he had already been asked more than once.

  
“He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” came Gladio’s gruff response.

  
“I’m fine,” Prompto told them, trying to pick up pace again.

  
“Gladio. I understand we are under stress, but I cannot feel any more vibrations from the collapse. Let us rest for an hour, at least.”

  
Gladio stopped to consider, turning back to look at Prompto. He looked like he just noticed the state of his exhausted companion, “fine. But we split at first sign of trouble.”

  
No one had to point out that the ‘first sign of trouble’ might be Ardyn. That Ardyn would be much worse than anything the weakened structure had to offer.

  
They holed up in a ratty bunker with a wash bin and sink with towels.

  
“We should clean up,” Prompto tried to keep the desperation from his voice. He wasn’t sure of the last time he had an actual wash.

  
“Go ahead,” Gladio sat on one of the bunks, posture still stiff. He watched Prompto fill the basin for lack of anything better to do. Ignis crouched beside Prompto, ready to help. He was grateful, because his arms were still weak and very bruised. Ignis helped him lower it to the ground.

  
The hard part was stripping. He thought he’d just do his torso, but taking off his shirt proved harder than originally planned, even if it was much looser than a month ago. Ignis had to blindly help him get it off without too much pain.

  
Washing was worse. He could feel Gladio staring at his open wounds and scabs. A knife wound on his chest was still bleeding sluggishly, but with his back to Gladio, he knew the man was staring at countless lashes on his back. Prompto’s pretty sure his back lacked any more skin by the time Ardyn was done. He wet a cloth and tried cleaning the grime from his body. It stung and when he reached a point where he had to stretch to get his back, he had to get Ignis to help him.

  
“Just… be gentle?” He half-muttered, a bit embarrassed from the fact that he couldn’t even perform such simple a task.

  
“No worries,” Ignis smiled. When the cool cloth reached his back, he couldn’t help from wincing at the feeling. Whenever Ignis pressed too hard it burns like the day it happened. He mostly keeps quiet at that. After he dresses his wounds and finds a clean shirt, Gladio roughly tells him to go to bed.

  
Prompto doesn’t complain that he can’t lie on any side without Ardyn’s face flashing alongside the pain.

  
<<<<<<<

  
They break ‘camp’ in what they assume is morning. It takes them a few hours to actually find the exit, and when they had at last made it outside, Biggs and Wedge were pacing anxiously where they’d left the Regalia, loudly bickering. Prompto frowned, startled by the condition of the vehicle.

  
“Chancellor Izunia likely killed the lot of ‘em,” Wedge argued, hands on hips, “we best go ‘fore he gets us too.”

  
“What we going to tell Lady A then? She asked us, ‘make sure blondie’s okay’.”

  
“An’ I’m tellin’ ya, Biggs, ‘e’s dead or close to it if Chancellor’s ‘ad ‘is go with ‘im.”

  
“Just a bit longer, Wedge. Or you explain to the Lady why we come back emp’y ‘anded.”

  
“What’s she doing with an MT any’ow? What if ‘e’s dangerous?”

  
Biggs scowled, opening his mouth to argue back when he sees the remnants of the royal retinue approaching. Prompto made sure to keep eye contact with the ground. He could hear Biggs mumble out ‘told ya’, and the two of them explained the situation. Aranea was busy getting refugees out of Gralea, so Biggs and Wedge had fixed some carts of the train.

  
They were led to a tunnel where three upright carts in more-or-less okay condition stood, ready to depart.

  
“We’ll be going to a dock,” Biggs nodded for them to board the train.

  
“It’s not far from ‘ere,” Wedge continued, “but you might want to get some rest while you can. Boats’ll be crowded.”

  
“We are in you debt,” Ignis nodded appreciatively.

  
“Yeah, thanks,” Prompto added.

  
Both Biggs and Wedge gave him a look that spelled pity and understanding, making Prompto uncomfortable. Dammit, he didn’t know why he’d spoken up at all. He cleared his throat and looked away.

  
“Right. Let’s go,” Gladio walked on ahead, leaving Prompto to guide Ignis.

  
>>>>>>>

  
The train ride was long and boring. Prompto couldn’t distract himself by wandering, unless he wanted to pace the dining and sleep cars for a few hours. Sleep itself was out of the question, knowing he would only wake the others up with his nightmares, and the last thing they needed was to deal with his shit. Gods that was embarrassing after they had rescued him. He’d woke Noct, and damn, he was nothing but a liability. He seeked out the barcode still under his bracelet, letting chewed nails dig and scratch along bars. Easier without gloves, but gods, why wouldn’t it just-

  
“Prompto, enough,” his head swiveled to land on Gladio, standing in the doorway, pitying expression on his face. When had he gotten here? How long had he been there? Had he really spaced out that much?

  
“O-Oh I-” he tripped over his words, hand leaving his wrist to rest on the table.

  
“You really think that, huh?” Gladio sat across from him, seemingly interested in the table.

  
“Uh, think what?” Prompto shuffled in his seat.

  
“That you’re a liability? That what you’ve got going on would bother us?”

  
So he had been taking aloud. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  
Gladio crossed his arms, “well, I did, and here’s what’s going to happen,” his voice came out in a growl, and Prompto flinched away. He sounded like Ardyn.

  
“Sorry,” he whispered.

  
“No kid, that's not what I-” Gladio sighed and rubbed his face tiredly, “look, I don’t know what that piece-of-shit Ardyn did to you, but if you are able to talk about it-”

  
“No.”

  
“-Iggy and I are here. So get it through your thick skull that you’re the same as us, okay? So long as you’re standing, you won’t ever be a liability. We need to stick together now that Noct-” he stops.

  
Prompto’s mouth opened and closed, unable to find the right words, “yeah, I get it,” he said lamely.

  
Gladio nodded and held out his hand, “wrist, now.”

  
Prompto abides, slipping off his bracelet and letting Gladio inspect. He runs his fingers over traces of burn marks, the scratches from today and the bruises Ardyn left. Gladio didn’t say a thing as he wrapped it in gauze from a first aid kit he kept with him.

  
“Thanks,” he murmured when Gladio’s done.

  
“I’m going to bed, and I expect you join or Iggy’ll bite your head off, got it?”

  
Prompto smiles, a little forced, “yessir,” he said, which seemed to soften Gladio’s expression.

  
“Night, kid.”

  
“Night.”

  
<<<<<<<

  
The first year without Noctis is hard. It’s a lot of rebuilding. A lot of late nights, lost meals. Prompto spends a lot of his times at Hammerhead, when he isn’t helping or leading refugees to safety. He wonders how Noct is doing.

  
The three companions spend time together, once or twice a month they meet Prompto in Hammerhead and drink, chat, swap stories. That changes at the end of the first year. 

  
“So I’ve been thinking,” Gladio starts, addressing Ignis and Prompto, sitting at the stools where Takka used to serve.

  
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Prompto jokes at the same time Ignis whispers, “wonders never cease.”

  
Gladio rolls his eyes, despite Ignis not being able to see it.

  
“Iris… she’s been starting to hunt. At outposts and stuff. Thought it might be good if someone would show her the ropes.”

  
“And…” Prompto urges when Gladio stopped to take a sip of whatever strong stuff he’s drinking.

  
“And I’m going to do that. But the thing is you guys won’t see much of me for a while.”

  
“I see,” Ignis comments, unperturbed.

  
“Cool,” Prompto shrugs.

  
“Yeah.”

  
True to his word, Gladio was gone for a long while.

  
In the middle of the third year, Prompto was staying full time at Hammerhead, for good reason. The last time he had made it to Lestallum, or most other outposts, people had thrown things at him. Called him a ‘dirty Niff’. One noticeably arrogant Lucian had gone so far to corner him alone, managing to take advantage of his slightly drunk state to slice at him with a knife, getting a few punches in as well. When Ignis had asked him why he didn’t fight back, he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t just toss out how it reminded him so much of what Ardyn did to him. How he was kicked back, how he was strung up again, cornered and-

  
Him and Ignis still met up, sometimes.

  
“See much of Gladio?” Asks Prompto.

  
“None at all,” Ignis says dryly, which earned a small chuckle from Prompto, “you would, if you stopped by Lestallum.”

  
“Iggy…” he warns.

  
Ignis merely frowns and goes back to his drink.

  
“Prompto,” he begins, but stops. He had never seen Ignis at a loss for words before.

  
“Yeah?” He waits, on edge now.

  
“My skills are… needed. In Lestallum. Monica and Holly have asked me to stay and aid in the strategizing efforts. It will be unlikely that I would be able to return to Hammerhead for quite some time.”

  
Oh.

  
“Cool,” he takes a sip of his drink. It’s bitter tasting.

  
“That isn’t all,” Ignis continues slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

  
“What is it?”

  
“I, and Gladio as well are quite worried about you.”

  
Prompto nearly chokes on his drink, “me?” He laughs, “don’t worry about me when you’ve got the entire city of Lestallum filled with starving refugees.”

  
“I’m afraid you’re missing the point.”

  
“No, I get it. But seriously Ig, priorities.”

  
“Just… give us a call, if you ever need anything. We’ll be in touch.”

  
“Yeah, okay,” Prompto drains the rest of his glass as Ignis stands up, “don't be a stranger.”

  
<<<<<<<

  
Turns out ‘staying in touch’ meant one call a few months later, wishing him a happy birthday a week late. He had a little party in which Talcott drew him a picture of a cake. Cindy gave him a hug and one of Cid’s whiskey bottles. He found comfort in drinking, and not just because it reminded him of Ignis and Gladio.

  
Gods, he wished they would pay him a visit. He didn’t want to seem needy, calling because he missed them.

  
On days like this, though, he thinks it might be better if they weren’t there to see him. Prompto lay on the cot in his small borrowed room, tipsy but not fully drunk, as he regrets to say. Apparently it used to be Takka’s room, but most everything had been stripped out to use a material. Curtains, not that there was light to block out anyway, carpet, even the original bed had been removed. Prompto had been given an extra cot they couldn't fit in the garage. Today, he’d given up on pacing the room. He was barefoot and the concrete is cold, and he could take four steps before hitting a wall on each side, so it was useless. Someone knocks on his door.

  
“Prompto?” Cindy asked impatiently, “would you open this door?”

  
When he didn’t answer, merely stopping to lay down, pulling his thin sheet to his chin, she went ahead and invited herself in. He really should have built a lock for the damn door. How did Takka stand living here, anyway? Maybe he didn’t have a lot of money, it would make sense, considering-

  
“-ou listening?” Cindy sighs when his simply stares, not feeling like talking, “honey, you have to get up at some point. When’s the last time you ate?”

  
He didn’t answer, but his face scrunches up.

  
“Why don’t you help me? Some folks here are real injured, and Paw-Paw ain’t goin’ near any blood.”

  
Something to do.

  
“Sure,” he says. Better than staying here in his thoughts. Cindy knows he’d stay lying there for another few days unless she brought him something to do. And dammit, it shouldn’t be her job to take care of him, but he can’t just stop the days where he can’t get up, motivation gone, hope gone. Dammit.

  
He brushes past her almost angrily. He can regret that later.

  
<<<<<<<

  
About two more years go by like this, all contact with his former companions ceased. He hopes they’re just busy. Maybe they’ve just got better things to do than check up. After all, Gladio had so much confidence he’d do alright, that he could fend for himself. Prompto has to prove him right.

  
He’s thinking about this as he drives back from a trading outpost, having found new parts for Cindy. He didn’t ask what she’s trying to make, but it had to do with more efficient energy or something. He distantly wishes someone would have joined him. Maybe Talcott, this being his favourite truck. Or Cindy. Hell, he’d take Cid at this point.

  
“Shit,” he tells himself, seeing a red giant blocking his path. Those things can be tough, especially when only one person is fighting. He gets out of the car, pulling his gun from his holster and takes a shot that hits the daemon right on his temple.

  
Prompto feels good. Probably one of the only times, the start of a battle, before you get hit or run out adrenaline. He likes the satisfaction of getting the first shot. The red giant rears on him, growling low and steady.

  
“You scared?” He mocks when the giant stops, standing still. He gets ready to line up another easy shot when he hears the hissing behind him.

  
Oh.

  
He doesn’t get to turn around as he’s smacked aside by a hard, scaly wall. He lands against the door of the car, crying out as the metal yields behind him. He stands shakily, regarding the Naga as she screeches at the red giant, opening her mouth and taking off its arm. It’s horrifically fascinating to watch, but unfortunately, Prompto’s pretty sure he fractured a few ribs, and doesn’t really want to overstay his welcome. He doesn’t have time now that the red giant is melting into goo. He quietly tried to open the dented car door. He slides in, but upon the sound of the engine, the Naga turns her undivided attention back to him. Prompto freezes, knowing that driving would wreck the car. Shit.

  
He leans out the window, firing off a few shots. The Naga screams, throwing her body at the truck.

  
He has just enough time to mentally apologize to Cid. The truck lands on it’s side, glass flying and Prompto thrown to the side with it. No time to stop, he fires a starshell above her to give himself time to crawl out, partially. His leg is trapped somewhere in the wreckage. While she’s distracted, he reaches with the circular saw he’s worked so hard to build on. Prompto hits the soft part where her neck should be, and before he can sing fanfare, her tail lashes out again. He’s pulled out of the truck with a scream of pain, and lands flat on his back. He watches her head reach for him, and he raises his gun. She falls to her side, a final groan from the pain of two bullets in her brain.

  
Prompto tries to steady his breathing. He can’t move a whole lot without any sort of pain, but if he stays, more daemons will show up for an easy meal.  
He tries to move his leg to get up.

  
Prompto remembers the time he was trying to take a photo of the sea from a high cliff by Galdin. He had fallen and broke most of the bones in his one leg. Then Ignis, Gladio and Noctis had to make their way down to him, which took almost half an hour.

  
At least then they had a few elixirs to spare.

  
He has nothing, and the pain if twenty times worse than anything he experienced then.

  
Prompto pulls out his phone, “c'mon, pick up,” he says after dialing the number. It rings for what feels like forever.

  
“Yeah?” Answers an uninterested voice. His voice catches before he can answer, and it’s just his ragged breathing for a few seconds before she tries again, “blondie, everything okay?”

  
“N-no,” he tries to shift closer to the car, but that almost makes him pass out, so he takes a minute to breathe again.

  
“Where are you?” She snaps.

  
“Dunno,” he answers, “goin’ to… uh, Hammerhead.”

  
“Okay. Keep your phone on, we’re tracking it.”

  
“Yeah,” he says, eyes drifting shut, “got it.”

  
“Good,” then after a beat of silence, “kid, you awake? I need you to put pressure on whatever wound you've got, okay? Prompto?”

  
He didn’t hear the rest, but just before his eyes shut, he saw a shadow step up to him. It looked familiar. He passes out.

  
<<<<<<<  
When he next wakes up, he’s in screaming agony. He’s lying down somewhere, but he doesn't have much space. Is he in a car? What… why isn’t he dead? He should be, and at this point, his leg is telling him he wants to be. He can’t move. Why does it feel like he’s tied down? He starts to panic, thrashing and pulling at the restraints at his wrists.

  
“Prompto, calm down!” Aranea’s voice says in the driver’s seat. So they are in a car. She sounds worried. She’s never sounded worried to him before.

  
“What…” he can’t get out any more, his mouth is dry and throat scratchy.

  
“You’re pretty busted up,” she presses harder on the gas, “I had to restrain you because you kept trying to claw off your leg.”

  
“Th-thanks?”

  
“No problem.”

  
She’s quiet. She isn’t telling him something. Prompto lifts his head as much as he can, trying to get a look at the source of his agony. Oh shit. He thinks that was once his left leg, but now it’s just a useless appendage, wrapped in blood-stained cotton. He makes a whimpering sound, appalled by the sight.

  
“Kid…” starts Aranea, “I did the best I could, and I don’t know if you saw it before I cleaned it but… it’s no wonder you passed out.”

  
He doesn’t answer, but a strong sense of nausea hits him, and he has to lean back to look away.

  
“No…” he says, so quietly he doesn’t think Aranea heard him.

  
He passes out again.


	2. Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the people who left comments on the last chapter and on the other fic I did- my computer wouldn't let me respond to them but all of you should know that it made me cry :)  
> Also I apologize now for the line spacing.

When he wakes up, he’s in the garage in Hammerhead, where they keep the injured hunters and refugees who haven’t made it to Lestallum yet. What is he doing in bed? He… should be fighting. Or dying. Or both, a common thread in the years since Noct left.

Prompto cracks his eyes open, but he’s much too tired to do more than that.

“Hey, are you awake,” a voice softly asks him. He can’t discern who it is. He can’t answer.

“The drugs kicked him pretty hard,” another voice says, “don’t be surprised if he can’t answer, or remember any of this.”

“Oh, honey,” the first voice sounds sad. Why sad? He hates when she’s sad… wait, who’s sad? 

“Let him sleep. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Sleep sounds good.

<<<<<<< 

He’s wakes again, much more lucid now. The only problem is the pain. He screams and thrashes, just wanting it to stop-

He passes out again, this time to the feeling of hands holding him down, and he blacks out with Ardyn’s face in his head. 

<<<<<<<

The third time he’s awake, something’s wrong. He can’t place it.

“H-hey,” he croaks out. Someone beside him takes his hand.

“Hey,” she says softly, “how are you feelin’?”

“Th… thirsty,” Prompto tries to get up, but she forces him back down with a surprisingly small amount of effort. He recognizes her gloves. Why did Aranea grab his hand? She never shows affection like that. Maybe something’s wrong, because he still can’t feel anything waist down.

“Okay, I’ll be right over.”

“Don’t… tell… the guys,” Prompto tells her, because oh, gods- they can’t see him like this. He should be better. They’ve got more important things to worry about.

 She pauses, but doesn’t answer.

 <<<<<<<

 A few days later, he’s more awake.

He doesn’t want to be.

True to her word, Cindy doesn’t tell Ignis or Gladio about the… situation. Apparently both her and Aranea tried to get ahold of them but couldn’t. Aranea’s here now, watching him carefully.

They’ve sat like that since he was put on the spinal anesthesia.  

He doesn’t like the feeling of it. Prompto glares at the wall, barely noticing someone else approaching.

“Hey, kid,” they say. Prompto doesn’t care who it is, he just wants them to go away. He sinks lower in the bed. Aranea speaks softly to them before they go away. Prompto only gets a moment of peace before-

“Look at me,” Aranea growls low at him. 

“Leave me alone,” comes his steady reply, the only thing he has been saying other than asking for water.

Aranea grabs his face, turning it to look at her. She doesn’t look happy. Her thumb presses unintentionaly into the bruise on his cheekbone.

“You wanna get your shit together?” She asks, glaring at him, “because people are actually trying to help you here.”

“Help me? They can’t help me,” he laughs a bit, pulling himself away from her, “last time anyone tried to help, I lost my fucking leg.” She stares at him. Prompto feels out of breath, this has been the most he’s spoken in days. Then what he said sets in, “wait I didn’t mean-”

“That was Cid who just came in,” Aranea tells him, a little quieter this time, “he wanted measurements for a prosthetic.”

He freezes.

 “And kid, we already did you a big favor by not telling your pals about what happened. So pull you head out of your ass already.”

 They’re quiet for a bit. He vaguely wonders why she hasn’t stormed off yet.

 “You still aren’t telling me something,” he says.

 She sighs, rubbing her face tiredly, “kid… just get some sleep.”

 “Stop it,” he cracks, voice raised, “just stop calling me _kid._ I’m not, okay? So stop treating me like one. Tell me what happened, I want to know.”

 She looks at him with a mix of aggravation and annoyance, “fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 >>>>>>> 

“Who was’at the phone, Lady A,?” Biggs asked her upon seeing her frustrated expression. 

“I have to go,” she replied, “I need your car.”

“Dropship’ll be faster,” Wedge said, but Aranea shakes her head.

“I don’t think the kid’ll like waking up on one of those.” 

“Well, ‘eres the keys,” Biggs passed them to her, “be careful, Lady A.”

“Thanks.”

She got to the scene of the crime in half an hour through tracking Prompto’s phone, glimpsing the flipped truck a mile away.

“Kid!” She yelled, pulling over beside it, hopping out with urgency to find him.

 “I’m afraid he’s lost consciousness,” a familiar drawl answered from somewhere behind the truck.

 It wasn’t often Aranea had to steel herself for something, but she actually took a moment to breathe before facing the speaker. She ran over to the voice, finding Ardyn crouched over Prompto’s limp form, and _holy hell_ his leg-

 “Commodore! Well not anymore, but old habits die hard,” he nodded to the Imperial truck she had been driving. She said nothing, and wasn’t planning on making a move unless he decided to hurt Prompto, “what?” He asked, “not happy to see me?”

 When she failed again to respond, he sighed and stood up, nudging Prompto’s leg with his foot. The kid didn’t react.

 “I suppose that leg is going to continue to bleed, even with the aid of bandages,” Ardyn stared at her, sitting down again beside Prompto, taking his head and cradling him in his lap.

 “Leave him alone,” she spat, “you’ve done enough.”

 “Oh, have I now? You should have heard him scream, after your little fanfare together in Gralea. You should never had left him on his lonesome.”

 Something was not right, Aranea knows how he looks when he’s about to do something-

 He dropped a fire spell over Prompto, and disappeared.

 “Shit!” Aranea sheds her coat, spreading it over the flames, trying to still Prompto, screaming and thrashing. Gods, if Prompto wasn’t fucked before, he sure is now. Aranea’s seen this stuff before. She’s _caused_ this stuff before. She scooped him up, trying to ignore the whimpers of protest, and drags him into the back of the car, stretching him out. She makes sure not to drive fast after that but about five minutes in-

 “Stop it! Ah- no!”

She whipped around, stopping the car upon seeing Prompto clawing tooth and nail at his injured leg, picking at the scabs forming and making it bleed.

She found a length of rope and one of Biggs’ cotton shirts and made do.

>>>>>>> 

The leg Cid makes for him is pretty badass. Bronze and silver scraps make it look like part of the old weapons Prompto likes to toy with in his spare time, it even has a fake foot so he can still wear shoes. Cid told him most of the ones he’s made lately have pegs at the ends. It makes him a little nauseous looking at it though, because that’s what he is, isn’t it? A machine, made by the empire. He doesn’t look at it often.

Aranea left shortly after the Ardyn spiel. They didn’t say goodbye to each other. Prompto doesn’t mind, he rather not have her watch him struggle through physical therapy. An old hunter who almost lost both legs guides him through. It’s humiliating. He can’t talk to people anymore. He can barely get up in the mornings. Cindy suggested a therapist, but that would mean going back to Lestallum. Which first would mean travelling in a car. It would lead to getting jumped by strangers while drunk in an abandoned alley. It would mean facing Ignis and Gladio.

A month passes like this. Using Hammerhead’s limited resources to fix himself. Avoiding people and doing small hunts. He finds that drinking before one to kill his nerves makes him wobbly on his leg. He almost doesn't care enough to stop. 

By two months he’s almost got the hang of the physical aspects of losing a limb. He can do this.

>>>>>>> 

Cindy bursts into the sick bay, where Prompto was getting a check up on a nasty cut on his arm, “we’ve got a problem.” 

Turns out the problem is worse than daemons, or the floodlights losing power.

Turns out Gladio and Ignis came to visit.

Prompto’s first reaction is one of fear, because they can’t know, they _can’t-_

 Then anger. How many damn years, and now of all times? Prompto ponders for a minute the reasons the gods could hate him.

 “I didn’t tell ‘em nothin’ ‘bout you,” she says to Prompto, “but it’s a matter of time. They were asking.”

 “What did you say?”

 “That I’d go on lookin’ for ya. Didn’t say a word when I went for the sick bay, but they’re worried.”

 “Shit,” he murmurs.

 “If you want my opinion, you should talk to them,” she frowns when he avoidantly looks away, “might help.”

 “Help what?”

 She shakes her head in disbelief, “you’re diggin’ a hole for yourself.”

 “And if I am?” He isn’t usually this snappy. It might have to do with the fact the guys didn’t even call him this whole time, or that Cindy’s pushing him to do something he’s successfully avoided for months.

 “I’ll send ‘em in. Choose if you tell ‘em or not, but they don’t deserve to be lied to,” she walks away a little briskly, and Prompto feels bad. He _has_ been closed off lately, even with getting used to the gods awful leg Cid made for him.

 He decides to get up and meet them halfway, rather than be cornered. Grabbing his crutch to help him balance on Cid’s uneven metal abomination, Prompto’s barely outside when a large hand hits him on the shoulder, throwing him a bit off balance.

 Gladio grins over him, eyes wandering, taking in what years of absence has missed. Ignis greets him with a hand on the shoulder, smiling warmly.

 “Give a guy a warning before you give him a heart attack?” Prompto can’t help a breathless laugh that escapes him.

 “Yeah, yeah. Wus. How ‘bout we get a drink?”

 <<<<<<<

 They talk. Light banter about where they’ve been, what they’ve been doing. About Lestallum, refugees, the kingsglaive. Prompto carefully avoids details about his own life, not wanting to spoil the light mood.

 “Wish we could’ve come by more often,” Gladio grunts, scrutinizing Prompto, “you look like hell.”

 “Er- thanks?”

“How have you been holding up here?” Questions Ignis. Prompto shrugs before realizing Ignis can’t see him do that. 

“Fine,” he answers.

 “What’s the crutch for?” Gladio nods to the thing leaning beside him.

 “Oh, uh…” he trails off, trying to make up a lie in his head.

 “Prompto, what is it?”

 He clears his throat, uncomfortable now. From what he’s heard, they don’t really need another problem to worry about right now.

 “Er…” he starts again, “I- I messed up. Big time.” Prompto curses himself then. Stupid Cindy, making him feel bad enough to tell the truth.

 They stay silent.

 “I. I was driving, but there was a Naga, well actually first there was a red giant, but. She- she, um.”

 “Spit it out already,” Gladio rolled his eyes, missing completely the cautious state of his former companion.

 “Hush, Gladio,” Ignis urges Prompto to continue.

 “Well, she hit me. My leg- it was trapped. Then Ardyn-” he stops to take a breath, “I guess he burnt my leg. Now I have this.”

 He lifts up his pant leg, revealing the metal contraption underneath. He guided Ignis’ hand to the cold metal, watching his face contort in… disgust? Pity? Prompto knew he felt disgust when he first got the damn thing. He really was just a machine, just like Ardyn had said. Becoming more like an MT.

 “What the hell,” Gladio says flatly, making Prompto shy away a bit.

 “How long have you been like this?” Asks Ignis, a little more kindly, but still with the worrying edge Prompto hates.

 “A few months,” he shrugs.

 “And when were you going to tell us? Why didn’t you say something about fucking Ardyn? Prompto what the hell!”

 “Calm, Gladio,” Ignis places a hand on his shoulder. Prompto tries to ignore the way he’s glaring.

 “I get it, okay? I fucked up,” he laughs a bit, reflex, “ I get that you guys might not want me as a liability anymore, now, I’m sortta on my last leg, er, so to speak.”

 Wrong move, both Ignis and Gladio have their eyebrows drawn, mouths in thin lines. He takes a deep drink, avoiding eye contact, which isn’t a problem with Iggy, but Gladio is staring at him with something he just can’t quite discern.

 “Gods, what happened to us,” Gladio turns away, speaking into his glass. They sit like that for a while. Finally Gladio got up and left, “fuck this,” he mutters.

 Prompto stares hard at the ground, not even noticing Ignis feeling around his new leg.

 “He’s only worried,” he soothes, “we both are.”

 “I can still fight and stuff,” Prompto taps his fingers along the table, “I’m not going to get in the way.”

 Ignis frowns, “I think you’re missing the point.”

 “What?”

 “Tell me, how have you been these last few months?”

 “Fine,” Prompto stared curiously at Ignis

.“I think Cindy will tell a different story, if asked.”

 “Yeah, maybe.”

 “And there’s my point.”

 >>>>>>>

 Ten years. Noctis steps out of Talcott’s truck and it feels like a dream. Prompto doesn’t run to hug him like usual, he doesn’t want to trip and fall. And Noctis just… pats him on the shoulder. Acts so kingly, distant. They sit in what once was Takka’s diner, laughing softly while Cindy brings them warm water to drink. Prompto can feel Ignis’ wordless question, ‘are you going to tell him?’. No, Prompto thinks. The last thing Noct needs is more problems when he’s ready to just…

 Don’t think about it.

 “So Prompto,” Noctis turns to him now, having regrettably zoned out of the conversation, “still have your camera?”

 Prompto shakes his head, “It got stuck in the Armiger ten years ago.”

 Noct nods, and holding out his hand, grabs the camera from the Armiger. Prompto is pretty sure he’s gaping, and gently retrieves the camera from Noct.

 It’s old. The model is so outdated now it probably shouldn’t work. The strap so he doesn’t drop it is missing, and the lens is scratched. The body of it is dented so bad he’s afraid it won’t turn on. Somehow, it manages, the screen that used to blind him at night with it’s manufacturer’s logo now dim.

 “That thing’s seen better days,” mutters Gladio, scooting over to look through the images.

 The first picture blinks on. It’s the four of them, posing in front of the Regalia.

 He flips to a picture of Cindy, smiling, no battle scars or blood. Just car grease.

 Then it shows Hammerhead, and it starts getting to be a little much for Prompto. He doesn’t need to be seeing these. It’s painful.

 “I’m going to get some air,” he tells them, ignoring worried looks all across the board. He turns around, feeling eyes piercing his back.

 He climbs to the roof of the garage and sits.

 He doesn’t understand. He should be spending every waking second with Noct, but he just can’t. It’s too much. He thought he tried to move on years ago, but apparently not. His hands seek out the stash of cigarettes under a crate. He had been worried about being on his last one, but he’s probably going to die on this trip anyway. He also found that smoking is a great alternative to drinking, easier, lasts longer and he could still fight after without worrying about any side effect alcohol could bring. Prompto pulled his lighter from his pocket, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

 “Dude, when did you start smoking?”

 Prompto jumps a bit, coughing and whipping around to see Noctis, tired-eyed and curious.

 “Two years ago? Maybe more?” He stutters out the answer, still in disbelief that _Noct_ is standing here asking the question.

 Noct sits down beside him, plucks the cigarette from his fingers and throws it onto the concrete below.

 Prompto watches it fall, “that was my last one.”

 “You might need your lungs for the battle ahead,” Noctis tells him. Prompto can’t remember the last time his friend wore such a weary look. Not since Luna, surely.

 “This kinda sucks,” he says suddenly, “you just got back, Noct. Can’t the gods give you, like, a _day_?”

 Noct is silent for a moment, “yeah. The gods might. But Ardyn wont.”

 Prompto scowls at the name. He’s lived in constant fear that the man might show up again and decide to take more than his leg. So yeah, he gets that the bastard needs to be dead ASAP, but he has a right to complain when his best friend has to die in the process. Or maybe it’s that he just doesn’t want to face Ardyn. Prompto still wakes in nightmares from time in Gralea. He still wakes up thinking he has two legs.

 “Prom- Prompto what-” Noctis’ voice is strangled and panicked. Prompto looks up, startled, then follows Noct’s arm to his hand, his hand gripping Prompto’s knee.

 Or what used to be his knee.

  _Fuck._

 “Shit. Shit- Noct, I was going to say something. Swear, but I- you just got back, I-” his ramblings are effectively cut off when Noctis wraps him in a hug. Prompto can feel him shaking. Hell, he’s shaking. “I’m sorry,” he can hear himself mumbling into Noct’s shirt.

Noct pulls away, “you have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, “how did…” he trails, glancing warily at his leg.

Prompto only has to utter the first syllable of _his_ name before Noctis is tense. Prompto is pretty sure he could light another cigarette with how much Noct’s eyes burn angrily.

 “He’ll pay. That bastard, damn it. Prom,” Noct looks down, “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

 “Nah, buddy. It’s cool. Cid did a good job on the leg,” he lifts his pants to show the metal he hates so much, “way better than the old one, right?”

 Noct shakes his head, smiling through eyes a little too bright, “you’re an idiot, know that?”

 Prompto laughs, “only the best of idiots for his royal highness.”

 Noct laughs too, and it’s nice.

 “So what have you been doing then? I mean, Iggy was strategist and Gladio was hunting, right?”

 “I hunted too,” he says. Prompto knows what Noct is getting at, the all-too-innocent question that translates to ‘do we need to leave you behind’.

 Noct’s eyebrows shoot up, “are you insane? You could get hurt!”

 “Uh, little too late for that one.”

 “Yeah but what if you didn’t make it, Prom. If I came back and you were…” Noct looks genuinely hurt now.

 “Well, I’m here, right? And I can still fight. I can still hold my own, or I wouldn’t be here.”

 “That’s not what I’m worried about. I just, I don’t want more than one casualty when tomorrow comes, you know?”

 Prompto goes quiet, not liking the tension of the situation. He digs under the crate, making a happy sound when he finds three more cigarettes. Prompto passes one to Noct, who only takes it out of confusion.

 “One won't hurt you,” he says, “I mean, if you’re going to die tomorrow, might as well try it, right?” He lights his own and takes a drag.

 Noctis laughs shallowly, “I take back what I said.”

 “What?”

 “That you never changed. All of you have.”

 “Yeah? Then I take back what I said too.”

 “Oh?”

 “I never really became a fully functioning adult.”

 Noct laughs, and it has a little more life behind it.

 Prompto has to remind himself that it will be gone for good come tomorrow.

 <<<<<<<

 “Are we ready to depart?” Ignis asks.

 “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Noctis replies with all the confidence of a man who knows how the story’s going to end, and all the wariness of one too.

 They take Talcott’s truck. The one they hauled years ago from the side of the road, damaged from a Naga attack. Cindy fixed it up pretty good, but Prompto isn’t crazy about getting into it. Noct climbs into the driver’s seat, Prompto taking his place beside. Ignis and Gladio in the back.

 “Sure you still remember how to drive, buddy?” Prompto jokes, but feels a bit of anxiety at Noct’s blank face.

 “Guess we’ll find out,” he revs the engine, and they’re off.

 They reach the campsite with little trouble. Prompto wonders if Ardyn has anything to do with it. The thought makes his stomach turn over.

 “I’ll get dinner going, shall I?”

 “Sounds good, Specs,” Noct sets up his chair and sits. Prompto and Gladio do the same, Prompto getting one for Ignis too.

 They end up having rice and canned meat. As far as limited stale ingredients go, it wasn’t half bad.

 Then Noctis starts talking. He sounds so much more like a king now.

 Prompto kind of hates it.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update might be a while- real life sucks


	3. Vertigo Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia is a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for this one! Please enjoy this final chapter, and as always, thanks for reading fam!  
> Also sorry I like making everything Prompto goes through more painful. I warn you now.

Insomnia is in shambles.

Prompto knows this. He knows some kingsglaive have situated themselves up in the underground systems. He knows even they had lost a lot of hope when they first saw the ruins of the city. They stayed to rebuilt what they could anyway.

Personally, Prompto never gave himself the opportunity to visit and help out. He knows Ardyn’s in here somewhere, and that thought alone is enough to keep him glancing over his shoulder every minute.

Something taps him when he’s conjuring images of Ardyn popping up right in front of them. Prompto turns wildly, fist in full swing against whoever-

Gladio barely manage to block it before it hits him.

“Woah, kid,” he says, “just wanted to tell you we’re taking a rest. You zoned out a bit.”

“Er- sorry,” he mumbles, trying to give a self-deprecating smile. It works, Gladio nodding, seemingly satisfied.

“There should be a bunker right… here,” Noctis jogs in the direction of descending stairs. Prompto’s relieved they get to rest now, his foot is starting to cramp from the hours of aimless wandering and fruitless fighting.

They climb down the cracked stone, Noct swinging open the door enthusiastically, and it reminds Prompto of when Noct used to get excited about staying in the caravan. It should be a happy thought, but now it creeps in the corners of his mind, reminding him of what they lost.

The bunker is cramped. Sure, there is beds enough for all of them, but they all squeeze together to take up almost the whole space. It does not help the anxiety Prompto already feels.

Ignis and Noctis take a seat on the floor, Gladio grabbing and straddling the only chair. Prompto opts to stand, nervous energy flooding through him.

“So what’s our gameplay for tomorrow?” Asks Gladio, straight to business. 

“Head to the citadel, I guess,” Noct shrugs, fishing out a protein bar from the Armiger, “plow right through him.”

Ignis sighs, “I see the years never changed you.”

Prompto snorts, and Noctis throws his protein bar at his head.

“I say we sleep on it,” Gladio concludes, standing up and stretching, “no use if we’re all exhausted.”

“Yeah, we might actually let Noct make the plan,” Prompto ducks as another piece of food is hurled at him, “hey! Because of that, I get top bunk.”

“There are two bunks, genius.”

“I get both.”

“Wait- what?”

“One for me, one for my leg,” he pats the metal affectionately, “I’ve got disability rights.”

“Enough, please,” Ignis finds his way to one of the beds, “one more word from either of you and-”

“Not happening, Iggy,” Noctis warps to the top bunk, “I’m the king.”

Prompto rolls his eyes, “you’re a child.”

He pulls of his leg, setting it to the side and pulling himself up the ladder with little effort.

“Goodnight, everybody,” Ignis says. They don’t turn the lights off, but after a few minutes everybody is out of it anyway.

What Prompto thinks to be about an hour rolls by, and still he can’t sleep. Eventually, he pulls himself out of the bed, quietly reattaching his leg and exiting the room. He sits in the hallway. Probably not his best idea, what with daemons and stuff ready to attack him, but he needed to get out of that cramped room. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. It smells like oil and licorice, the strange smell that daemons bring about them.

Tipping his head back, Prompto wishes desperately for something to do. He needs a distraction. He pulls out his gun, haphazardly spinning it and playing with the safety.

“Prompto?” The bunker door creaks open, Ignis poking his head out. Prompto lets the gun vanish.

“Yeah?” He turns more towards him, “sorry, couldn’t sleep.”

“I understand,” he says, but instead of turning back, he gently closes the door and takes a seat beside Prompto.

“You should go back to bed,” Prompto tells him.

“I’m afraid sleep is not coming easy to me at the moment.”

Prompto frowns, “oh?” He asks, knowing Ignis is trying to get at something.

“I suspect it’s for the same reason you are awake,” Ignis reaches to take Prompto’s hand in comfort, like reassurance that he’s there.

Prompto hesitates, there are many reasons he’s out here. For one, if he did manage sleep, he would’ve waken everyone anyway with nightmares. As far as he knows, Ignis doesn’t have bad nightmares like that. Two, he was bored. He couldn’t just lay in bed, stiff with fear of-

Oh, that makes sense.

“Ardyn,” Prompto spits out.

“Yes.”

It’s silent for a while. Prompto didn’t think that Ignis was still afraid of Ardyn, or even really afraid of him in the first place. He’s always been so strong and sure after losing his eyes, strength Prompto always wished he had. Now Ignis is in the same boat as him, terrified of meeting Ardyn again. Terrified for Noct. Prompto can only be grateful that Ignis was left alone by the bastard in the ten years. Ardyn got one hit in then left Ignis alone. And hey, if that meant he chose to focus all his torture and ill will on Prompto, he’d be okay with that. For the guys.

“We’re going to be okay,” Prompto says with more confidence than all the last ten years combined. His voice still wavers, though, “we have to be.”

“I suppose that’s why the two of us are here now,” Ignis squeezes his hand, “because we have to be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“Prompto, I want to apologize.”

“What? Why?”

“For not always being there for you. Especially when you needed me most.”

Prompto shifts uncomfortably, “Iggy, it’s fine-”   
“I understand what you’re going through, and did not step up when you first went through it.”

“To be fair,” Prompto interjects, “I didn’t exactly tell you right away.”

“‘To be fair’ it shouldn’t have taken us so long to find out,” Ignis hesitates, searching for the right words, “I believe that you have not been given, nor are giving yourself the proper care and attention. You don’t need to be going through this alone.”

“Iggy,” Prompto says, starting to feel guilty. Ignis does not need to be worrying this much about him, especially when he’s already worried about Ardyn. “I am fine. Seriously.”

“You are about to face the man you tortured you for over a week, took your leg and is about to take your best friend from you, and I found you playing with the safety on your gun with clearly no danger about, save for yourself. Tell me again that you’re fine.”

“Way to put it,” Prompto mutters, “I am functioning. Better?”

Ignis lets out a long-suffering sigh, “I want you to know that if there is anything you need to talk about, I am here. Let me help you.”

“Don’t worry about me, but thanks. I mean it.”

“Very well. Now, are you going to stay here all night, or will you like to lay somewhere more comfortable?” Ignis stands up, pulling Prompto with him.

“Guess I have no choice.”

<<<<<<<

The ‘morning’ comes with little welcome. They have a breakfast of granola bars and water, but Prompto doesn’t really taste anything. No one really talks, which is fine, Prompto’s not really in the mood. Despite what Ignis told him, he doesn’t really feel any better about today. Noctis promised they’d be going straight to the citadel. It seemed most likely that’s where Ardyn would be. They set out.

Insomnia is like a maze, and they wander for hours, fighting random monsters. These daemons worry Prompto, they closer to the citadel they get, the stronger their enemies seem.

They realize this with the entrance to the citadel in sight, when a three headed daemon stops them in their tracks with a guttural roar.

“Cerberus,” Noct warns, “careful.”

“What is it, some pet of Ardyn’s?” Gladio asks, summoning his sword.

“Seems like it,” Prompto readies his gun.

“Fire-breathing, I’d assume?” Ignis must feel the intense heat creeping up on them.

“Oh yeah, just our luck,” Noct’s old sarcastic humor creeps in.

“Well, shall we then?” 

As if to answer, Prompto fires off a shot, hitting the creature’s eye, watching it throw its heads back in pain.

“See you haven’t lost your touch!” Noct shouts as he warps into the creature’s side.

Prompto laughs, not having felt this exhilarated in a good while. He watches Gladio’s strong strokes leave large cuts.

And of course Ignis. Daggers dealing a surprising amount of pain for their size. This is the first real time Prompto’s seen him in action, deadly grace defying all odds throw against him.

Who is Prompto, to be standing here fighting in this man's shadow. He feels suddenly very insignificant in this battle. He could never be half of what Ignis is, he knows this. At least Ignis’ optimism is real, Prompto can’t even pull off so much as a genuine smile anymore. At least when Ignis lost his eyes, he didn’t just roll over and die. 

“Prompto! Pay attention!” He hears Gladio’s familiar bark.

Returning to the battle, he just barely manages to roll out of the way of scorching fire blasting at him. He gets a few shots in before he sees Gladio in trouble.

The big guy looks to be holding off one head while another with the missing right eye turns on him.

Prompto shoots at it, desperately calling out Gladio’s name, but isn’t heard, and Cerberus doesn’t so much as flinch.

_ SHIT. _

With a final shot at its face, Prompto pushes Gladio to the side right before the daemon turns his torso into a chew toy.

Unfortunately, Prompto takes that place, the dog head taking hold of his metal leg and lifting him off the ground. Cerberus starts shaking his head violently, shaking a screaming Prompto back and forth. He hears Noctis yelling his name.

Cerberus pulls him further into his mouth. Prompto knows he doesn’t have a lot of time, and works to take his leg off.

It’s torn off at the wrong moment, just when the dog head is at the height of its swing, and throws Prompto so hard he blacks out when he hits the citadel steps.

<<<<<<<

“...to… Pro….to…”

Holy shit. His entire body hurts, and something’s missing. His hair feels wet for some reason, and hands are touching him.

Last time he was in this spot…

He gasps, eyes flying open and he kicks and scratches at his abuser-

Noct?

Noct’s face looks hurt.

“Ssss… sorry,” he barely manages to slur out. HIs head hurts like hell, “thought… y’re h-h-im.”

“Prompto, please stay still-” Ignis holds him down. So that was Iggy touching him. It kinda hurts.

“We couldn’t give you the potion, it might have kept you unconscious for too long while you healed.” Gladio sounds sad about something. Or cautious about his words. Or something.

Noctis hands him the potion, which he gratefully crushes, feeling the relief of the magic flow through him. He missed this kind of magic in those ten long years.

“Thanks,” he said, head clearing up, “er- sorry about that.”

He tries to stand.

“Hey, wait-” Gladio manages to catch him as he crumples back down.

Prompto winces as Gladio presses on new bruises, looking down at where once was his metal leg. It now sits beside him.

“Oh, for  _ fuck sake- _ ” a sour taste fills his mouth at the sight of yet another leg crushed beyond recognition. Now what? Shit, they’re liable to leave him behind now. Alone in a bunker, while they carry on and Noct dies without a final goodbye, without him to be there, right to the end. Even after Iggy lost his vision, he could still manage, so why not Prompto? He knows coming along would be impossible, he _ knows.  _ He feels a ball of hopelessness hammering in his chest the longer he stares at the old prosthetic. Such a familiar feeling, the way it bruises an already battered body. 

“Prompto!” Noctis is waving a hand in front of his face, worried expression snapping him back to attention.

“S-sorry. Zoned out,” he stops, mouth trying to form words that won’t come. He wants to tell them to keep him around. He knows Ignis put his crutches in the Armiger, ‘just in case’, he said. “Guys, uh, I can keep going,” he says, void of the emotion and conviction he intended.

“Like hell,” Gladio growls, “you won’t be able to fight.”

“Agreed,” Ignis chimes in, “it would be unwise for you to carry on. We’ll escort you to the kingsglaive. They can take care of you there.”

Prompto feels betrayed. The man who gave him the confidence to continue on now stands before him, telling him to give up. No, Ignis is the one giving up on him. That’s what it feels like.

“Please, guys, just. Just let me. I- I won’t get in the way. Promise,” he feels his voice rising in desperation.

“And what if you get yourself killed?” Gladio’s voice is escalating too, “we’ve waited ten years for the light! You can’t just throw this away to save your pride.”

“I didn’t wait ten years to get left behind! This has nothing to do with pride.” His fists clench, “and if I die, it’s my choice. I am not too weak to do this!”

“I’m not saying you’re weak, I’m saying that you’re too damn stubborn and you  _ can’t _ do this! I’m saying that just because you can die easy, doesn’t mean you should. Doesn’t mean everyone’s going to be okay with it, just ‘cause you want to. You need to get over it.”

Prompto is silent for a while, and the tension is too thick for anyone to intervene, “thanks for pointing that out for me, “ he says sharply, “but  _ trust me.  _ I know what’s wrong with me.”

Gladio doesn’t respond to that, like he didn’t actually expect Prompto to agree with his accusations, and now he just looks sickeningly guilty.

“Prompto,” Ignis tries softly, “this is for your safety-”

“Let him go,” Noctis interrupts. 

Prompto looks up at Noct, surprised, as does Ignis and Gladio.

“Highness, I don’t think-”

“No. Give him the crutches. He doesn’t have to fight, but he will stand with me. To the end,” Noctis stands, helping Prompto up as Ignis gives him the crutches. 

“Thank you Noct,” Prompto whispers, feeling a lump in his throat. Noct nods.

They continue on to the steps of the citadel, Ignis and Prompto in the back, Noct and Gladio leading. Gladio doesn’t make too much of an effort to control the volume of his voice.

“This is a mistake,” he says squarely, “he’s going to end up hurt, or dead.”

“It’s what he wants Gladio. It’s his life, not ours.”

“Ardyn is going to be here, Noct. Do you really want that for him?”

“I can’t deny him after all he’s been through. All he’s done for me,” Noctis’ voice sounds very kingly, like his father, “ it is my favour to repay.”

“Saving his life is a good payment too,” Gladio mutters, but drops the topic for the time being.

Prompto doesn’t try starting a conversation with Ignis. But that doesn’t stop Ignis.

“Prompto, I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, “it doesn’t.”

“Of course it does,” chides Ignis sternly, “you don’t need to be putting yourself in danger. It would be safer if you stayed behind.

This. This is the man who only a day ago told Prompto he’d never be left alone again. Who insisted he was to be brought along after he lost his eyes. Who was respected when he learned how to manage and fight on his own again. Ignis, whose abilities everyone trusted enough that he was never questioned once about safety. Ignis went through the same things as Prompto, and here they are, in the same position. 

So what makes Prompto different?

He doesn’t answer Ignis’ concerns, to the advisor’s chagrin, but he doesn’t attempt starting another conversation.

They walk for a good half hour before they reach the bottom of the final set of stairs leading to the huge double doors.

And there he is.

“Ifrit! The Infernian!” Ardyn starts, and Prompto feels his heart jackhammering through his chest, he doesn’t catch the rest of what Ardyn says. The first part doesn’t register either, and he’s slightly confused until the the curtain pulls away to reveal yet another god. Ardyn is gone. Again.

A god that blasts a wave of fire right at Noct, who screams as his robes catch the heat.

“Hang in there, buddy!” Prompto shouts, tripping over himself to reach him, falling to his knee and patting out the flames. Gladio takes if from there to push Noct to cover, Prompto barely managing to follow him in time, feeling the metal on his crutches heat up. Distantly he’s aware that even if he had his leg, it would’ve probably melted.

Ignis passes Noct a potion, the two of them standing to join the fight. Prompto, on reflex, starts to follow, but is pushed back by Gladio.

“Stay back,” he snaps.

Seeing no better options, Prompto crouched behind the concrete and shoots Ifrit from afar. It works up until the god starts to stand up, putting up more of a real fight.

“Just great,” Prompto grings out as he shuffles away form the giant swinging sword. His back meets the railing, and he continues to shoot Ifrit. The god starts to get really annoyed with this after a while, turning on Prompto with a snarl on his daemonified face.

Before he can get to gutting the source of his problem, Prompto catches both a glowing-eyed Noctis and a  _ very  _ large bird thing falling from the sky.

Then it starts raining swords.

Really big ones. Like, ones you wouldn’t expect to miss an equally large god.

He watches in confusion as big-sword-god-man retreats, having not put a single mark on the Infernian.

What the hell?

Prompto raises his gun again, Ifrit’s attention now off him, he can probably get some good hits in.

Turns out he doesn’t need to. Freezing cold he hasn’t felt since Niflheim coats everything. Frost forms on the ground, on Prompto as he shivers, even on Ifrit. He watches Noctis from far away, grabbing his arms. Gentiana appears beside him, smiling and nodding with respect at the king. She floats off the ground, appearance shifting to something Prompto doesn’t feel would be very warm for the Glacian. He has time to think ‘ _ classy’ _ in regards to her outfit, but when she kisses Ifrit, turning him to ice shards, Prompto doesn’t feel like he has room to judge. He grabs his crutches, once molten hot now frozen. He can still feel the chill in his bones as he stands. He thinks he knows why all the swords missed. Ifrit was being saved for Shiva, the attack merely being a distraction from the ice goddess. It was sad, in a way.

Prompto moves over to the rest of them, listening to a strange voice impart gibberish to them. Noct seems to smile a bit at the words, though.

“Are we ready?” He asks fondly to his companions.

“Let's go,” Gladio gestures for Noctis to lead the charge.

>>>>>>>

Ardyn waits on the throne, self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

It’s easy to see why, what with the decomposing corpses hanging from the ceiling. He sees Regis and Luna, put there to hurt and disturb Noct. The former emperor of Niflheim hangs there too, likely a show of how great and powerful Ardyn is. And… someone Prompto doesn’t quite recognize at first.

When he gets closer, it stabs him in the gut.

He met Nyx, briefly once. He remembers him being a refugee and always facing discrimination for it. Nyx made Prompto feel at home when he first started crownsguard training, he was always so cheerful. Later, he heard Nyx had sacrificed his life to save Luna and keep safe the ring during the attack on Insomnia. Libertus talked about it all the time, and he was a hero idolized constantly among refugees and kingsglaive alike.

Noctis doesn’t know who Nyx was. He was put there for Prompto, Gladio and Ignis.

And damn, is it effective.

“The throne brings you here,” Ardyn states more than asks, “it seats only one.”

“Off my chair, jester. The king sits there,” Noct’s eyes glint with pure malice.

Instead of continuing with a witty retort, something seems to catch Ardyn’s eye.

“It seems you’ve actually brought all your broken toys to play with. Interesting. Honestly, I’d have expected you to leave the Magitek behind after that last attack.”

Prompto squirms uncomfortably under Ardyn’s heavy gaze.

“They are none of your concern.”

“And why shouldn’t I be concerned about the men you brought here to help kill me?”

Noctis doesn’t seem to have a good answer for that, simply scowling at Ardyn instead.

“Let’s see,” Ardyn scans the group, “we’ve got a shield who lets his charge vanish, then willingly lets him die, an advisor who cannot see whom he is leading, and a one-legged Niff with no part to play in this story. How sad.”

Ardyn waves his hand, vanishing the bodies. Then, looking like he’s having the time of his life, sends three balls of black magic hurdling at the three retainers.

They can’t even duck to avoid them, and agonizing pain rips through Prompto as it hits him, sending him to the floor. He’s aware the other two on their knees, struggling, but don’t seem to be in nearly as much pain.

“What did you do to them?” Noctis takes a step forward, but Ardyn stops him. Squeezing his fist sends a new wave of pain through them. Prompto screams, and he hears Ignis and Gladio let out shouts of pain.

“Magic is a curious thing,” Ardyn says idly, watching the three men whither on the floor, “this particular spell was always one of my best. You see, it takes hold of the body, causing pain based on how strong the spell is. However, it also operates on body mass and health, say if you were underweight or were a drug and alcohol abuser. See, I’ve given your friends all the same dose that should just incapticipate them, with minor pain. 

“Alas, our dear friend Prompto lacks in both body mass and health. Pity about that leg, now, isn’t it?” Ardyn sighs happily, “at least the health issues aren’t my fault. Ah, I always did like the sounds that one made. So strange to see a thing feel so much pain.”

Prompto wants to correct him. Of course it’s his fault, it’s been his fault since Niflheim. Everything he is is because of Ardyn.

Unfortunately, he can’t unclench his jaw enough to speak.

“Let them go,” Noct sneers, “they have no part in this.”

“Ah, well, the magic does take a while to wear off. I can’t do that myself.”

Prompto feels a small stream of blood fall down his chin, ‘ _ this is it. _ ’ 

Of course he’ll die because of this monster, he was stupid to think he might actually win, that he could have a life without daemons.

The last thing he sees is Ardyn send three more balls of magic at them. He blacks out.

<<<<<<<

Everything hurts. He doesn’t quite want to open his eyes, but at least there won’t be any light to blind him. He stares at the high ceiling.

“Prompto. You’re awake,” Gladio is crouched beside him, helping Prompto sit up, “you’re in bad shape,” he says, and everything about that sentence screams ‘I told you so’.

“I’m f-fine,” he spits out the glob of blood that has accumulated inside his mouth, “where’s Noct?”

“Off fighting Ardyn, I presume. I say we meet him on the steps, yes?”

“Sure,” Prompto shrugs, but doesn’t see his crutches, “er, where-?”

“Ardyn took them, probably out of spite,” Gladio isn’t looking at him, “guess I’ll have to carry you?”

Prompto feels shame course through him. He fucked up, now he has to be carried from place to place. Just great.

He feels his face burning as Gladio pulls him over his shoulder, and he feels it takes far too long to get outside. Every step feels like proving Gladio right, he really can’t handle this.

After that, they sit at the bottom of the steps and wait.

Gladio still doesn’t spare him a glance, and Ignis is faced straight ahead. No one talks, which makes it feel a little awkward. Prompto doesn’t like the tension in the air, he doesn’t like thinking that the last moments the three of them will have with Noct are going to include them arguing.

“Gladio, look,” he starts, but trails off, not knowing how to continue. Gladio waits, staring hard at the ground, “I- I. I’m sorry, I-”

“Stop,” Gladio scowls, “just… stop.”

“Gladio…” Ignis warns.

“No. Look, Prompto, it isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have said… you know.”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly, “it’s okay,” it isn’t. Gladio knows it too, but at least they’ve bled out most of the tension for now.

It takes hours for Noct to get back. Long enough for Prompto to fall asleep on Ignis’ shoulder. Long enough that they’re out of their minds with worry.

When Noctis walks up to them, he looks tired. He looks sad, bloodied and distant.

“It’s over,” he says, moving past them as they stand up, Prompto leaning heavily on Ignis.

Prompto almost can’t believe it. The man who caused him so much suffering is gone, without so much as a goodbye. They’ve won, finally. 

And now Noct, his best friend and only reason to get up most mornings. Now Noct is going to let his forefathers kill him. Prompto is about to lose his reason for existing.

Noctis climbs a few steps, but stops suddenly and turns around. 

“Gladio,” he says solemnly, “Prompto. Ignis.”

Prompto feels the lump in his throat make a reappearance. As Noct talks, barely addressing any of them directly, he feels his world crumble under him. Noctis is no longer the boy he approached some fifteen years ago. He’s a king, and Prompto has to remember that. He tries to remember that as Noctis turns around.

“‘Night, prince,” Prompto whispers as Noct is about halfway up the stairs.

He swears he hears “‘night, blondie” from Noct, far, far away.

A creaking sound calls for them, and they turn around to face the last daemons they’ll ever face. Prompto almost expects Gladio or Ignis to hold him back, but they let him lean against a street light and fight from afar.

They need this as much as he does. They need to finish this, once and for all. This is them in one final act for the king. This is their final goodbye.

It would be wrong not to go out with a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... I was thinking of doing another chapter to give this a happier ending, what do you guys think?  
> Also this was the original story board:  
> Exposition: prom narration of how the ten years have been. Now five year mark. Show how years have gone by, some side stories. Overall lonely prom  
> Rising action: prom goes out, cindy request drive to lestallum to get foods and stuff, see the bros. Car gets hit, ardyn involvement? Hurt leg, red giant, hard to get back with no car. Wait somewhere. Iris save? Cor save? Both?  
> Climax: bye bye leg. Cid make cool leg. Sad prom, dont tell bros. Living with (no) leg  
> Falling action: bros (gladio first) find out! Concern, anger, ANGSty prom run nice cindy  
> Resolution: noCT BACK. reaction to (no) leg defeat (get it? De-feet! Or foot) end same, sad noct

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment what you think and send in prompts! Kinds criticism is welcome


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